


Love Made Real

by justsare, PhryneFicathon



Series: Wedding Night Sonata [3]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-07 04:34:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16847218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justsare/pseuds/justsare, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhryneFicathon/pseuds/PhryneFicathon
Summary: Hugh is overwhelmed by love.





	Love Made Real

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hot_elf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hot_elf/gifts).



Dorothy’s face was flushed; her hair tousled damply against the pillows. Her breath was coming in rapid, shallow pants, and she was whimpering softly. Her nails were digging into the soft, pale flesh of the backs of her thighs as she held her legs aloft; she seemed not to notice the pain of the red crescent marks being left there.

Hugh’s face hovered above hers, his expression ranging from delight to concern, underlaid with adoration all the while. His face, too, was red, and his breath hitched.

Suddenly Dottie screamed, though the sound was quickly bitten back and swallowed; she tucked her chin into her chest, and almost seemed to be holding her breath. Hugh couldn’t take his eyes from her face; he thought she had never looked so beautiful.

After a moment and a murmured word he couldn’t hear, Hugh looked down, just in time to see the dark, curly head of his firstborn child emerging from his wife’s core. He gasped, watching helplessly as Dr. Mac’s hands supported the baby’s head. She murmured encouragingly to Dorothy again and Dorothy obeyed, bearing down and pushing the child’s shoulders through, so that the baby tumbled into Mac’s waiting hands. Hugh stared as the baby’s eyes and nose were wiped clean; as the mouth was swept out; and as a towel was wrapped around it. Suddenly a piercing cry filled the air, and Hugh could hear, distantly, the cheers of their family assembled in the kitchen downstairs. Tearing his eyes from the baby, Hugh looked back to Dorothy, who was watching him, smiling. Tears glistened in her eyes, and he felt his own tears sliding down his cheeks.

Dr. Mac was placing the baby on Dorothy’s chest now, and she was saying something, but Hugh couldn’t make out the words. Dottie only had eyes for her baby now, and Hugh watched as she brought the baby to her breast. He stood helplessly beside the bed, his handkerchief shredded between his hands. He stared at the tiny face, red and swollen and angry and _beautiful_ , its cheeks working solemnly as it sucked reflexively. Dr. Mac was still speaking, and Dottie replied without ever looking away from her baby. Hugh wondered why he couldn’t hear - or rather, why he couldn’t understand any of the words spoken.

Hugh reached out and stroked Dorothy’s wild hair away from her face. He felt as though his own face would break from the strain of the smile stretching from ear to ear. He had a family now. Not just him and Dottie, but their precious son - or daughter? He realized he didn’t know. Dr. Mac must have said, but he hadn’t heard. Well, no matter. A son to play footie with. A daughter to carry on his shoulders. It didn’t matter. It was his family. He was a father now. A dad! And Dottie was a mother. A mummy. The best mummy in the world, already, obviously, he thought, as he watched their baby fall asleep at her breast. He reached out tentatively, one finger stroking down the baby’s downy cheek. The nose was Dottie’s, but the ears reminded him of his own. Dottie was drifting off to sleep, too, as Dr. Mac moved around at the end of the bed, and Hugh could dimly hear that the celebrating downstairs had commenced in earnest. Mr. Butler, Jane, the Inspector, Miss Fisher, Bert and Cec, even Mrs. Stanley. They had a baby now, and it was theirs - all of theirs, to protect and care for - and certainly a cause to celebrate.

In the quiet of the bedroom Dr. Mac moved about, tidying bloody sheets and disposing of… well, Hugh didn’t know, and didn’t really want to know. He looked back at his wife and child. He swallowed, the weight of responsibility pressing again on his shoulder blades. He’d been promoted again; he was a sergeant now. He worked long hours, but he made decent money - enough that they could afford their own place. But they stayed in the cottage behind Wardlow, ostensibly to keep an eye on the house during Miss Fisher’s extended absences. Could he afford all the children a Catholic marriage generally produced? Hugh shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot and shook his head. _Focus on_ this _child, Collins_ , chided a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like the Inspector’s.

Hugh brushed Dottie’s hair back again, and bent down to press his lips to her forehead. She was warm, but the perspiration had abated and the colour of her skin was returning to normal. The baby, too, seemed slightly less bright red against the white of its mother’s skin.

Dot’s eyes drifted open again, lighting first on the baby at her breast and then looking for her husband. Hugh smiled at her - had, indeed, not stopped smiling since the moment the baby’s cry pierced the air - and bent to kiss her. As their lips met she sighed softly and he cradled her head in his hands.

“Can you believe we have a son?” she asked softly, and Hugh shook his head in wonder. A son! He had a son! He gazed adoringly at the baby, wanting to ask to hold him, but not wanting to take him away from Dottie. As always, she seemed to read his mind, because she gently disengaged the baby from her breast and offered the towel-wrapped bundle to Hugh. “Do you want to hold him?” she asked, and he nodded mutely. He took the baby from her hands with a shuddering breath that made his knees weak. Staring down at his son’s face, his eyes traced the outlines of the tiny eyes, nose, lips, and ears. He had never seen anything more perfect. To think that this perfection had come from his seed! From Dottie’s womb - that, he could understand. She was amazing. But the baby was half him as well. _Please, please let me be a good father,_ he prayed (not for the first time and certainly not the last). _Let me teach him, let me be there for him, let me be everything he needs his dad to be._ Hugh raised his eyes and met Dottie’s, and though his mouth opened and closed, no words would come. His son in his hands. His wife beside him. His heart was going to burst. “It’s all right, Hugh. You don’t have to say anything.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I’ve tried to write something not-sexy in a very, very long time (except for obituaries, which I write every day, but let’s not go there). I hope y’all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> Prompt: Dot and Hugh--You don’t have to say anything


End file.
